


5 Times Kallus Used the Force + 1 Time It Used Him

by HixyStix



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: 5 Times, Force-Sensitive Alexsandr Kallus, Force-Sensitive Lasats, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HixyStix/pseuds/HixyStix
Summary: Kallus’s mantra had served him well over the years, from childhood to the ISB to the Rebellion.  It was nothing but mere superstition, but he couldn’t deny it seemed to work.Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me.  I’m not here, so you can’t catch me.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	5 Times Kallus Used the Force + 1 Time It Used Him

**29 BBY – Coruscant**

Every morning, right after Papa left for work, Alex snuck onto the turbolifts. Hiding behind large aliens and long robes, the six-year-old made his way to the surface levels, where the sun shone and the air didn’t smell like rot and chemicals.

He used to go deeper into Coruscant with Katya to hunt for granite slugs and hawk-bats, but Alex was too talented for that work, so Mama sent him up instead.

Alex ought to be in school like Papa said, but he’d learned how to read and how to do arithmetic. Papa always told him if someone could do those two things, they could teach themselves anything they needed to know.

Papa always told the truth, so Alex skipped school secure in the knowledge he could still be smart someday. Maybe even smart enough to leave Sah’c Town.

Instead of sitting at a desk, Alex spent his days in the byways and crowded skywalks of upper Coruscant. Beings of all species lived there, richer than little Alex could ever dream of being. They walked down the paths with purpose, jostling each other as they tried to hurry to their destinations.

By the time they got there, the little boy who’d stolen their credcards and credchips was far behind them, long gone and counting his haul for the morning.

Picking pockets was _easy_ for Alex. He was better at it than the other kids from his level, but it wasn’t because he was lucky. He was talented, yes, but he also had a secret: he _thought_ very hard about being quiet and quick, unfelt and unseen.

_Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me. I’m not here, so you can’t catch me._

No one ever caught him when he _thought_ the chant.

Well, almost no one. One time, he tried to pickpocket a Jedi and got caught.

The Jedi, a human woman whose dark hair was bound in intricate braids, caught Alex’s wrist as he tried to slip his hand inside her robe pockets. Terrified, Alex tried to pull away, but she held on tight.

Alex had no choice but to follow her to the edge of the skywalk. Was she going to throw him over the side to punish him?

The Jedi knelt and looked him in the face, concern knitting her brow. “What’s your name, little one?”

Alex lied easily. “Nik,” he said, mentally adding _an’ I’m not little_.

Somehow, the Jedi knew better – Alex could tell by the disappointed purse of her lips – but she didn’t push the issue. “Why aren’t you in school, Nik?”

Alex looked away. The true answer was because he wanted to eat. He wanted Papa and Mama and his sisters to eat, but what Papa made working in a Sah’c family factory wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to tell a stranger that, however, so he shrugged.

The Jedi stared at him, still holding his wrist firmly. “You’re clever and quick, aren’t you? You’re not in school because you’re good at stealing and your family needs help.”

Unable to stop himself, Alex looked back at her, eyes wide.

That seemed to be answer enough for her. Her expression turned sad. “We missed you, didn’t we? So close to home, you weren’t even noticed.” She brushed some of Alex’s shaggy blond hair from his face. “If you were any younger, I’d take you with me and you’d never have to worry about going hungry again.”

Alex tried again to pull away. He didn’t want to go with this Jedi. He wanted to go home, to take his credits to Mama, to read his textbooks so that he could trick Papa into thinking he’d been at school all day.

The Jedi held onto him and Alex had never been so scared in his life. It was scarier than when Papa got mad or when Mama knew he’d done something wrong or when Katya told him about the monsters that lived in the levels below them. What if the Jedi didn’t let go? What if she took his credits? What if she tried to kidnap him?

“I want you to promise me something,” she said.

Terrified, Alex nodded.

“If you ever get into trouble, if your family ever gets into trouble, come to the Jedi Temple. We _will_ help you.”

Alex nodded again, but he knew he’d never go. Kalluses didn’t ask for help, Papa said. Kalluses didn’t _need_ help, Mama said.

The Jedi let go of his wrist and Alex ran. He ran all the way to the turbolifts, not caring who saw him. He was heading down, after all; people only cared if you tried to go up.

“You’re early,” Mama said when he closed the door of the small flat behind him, still panting. “What happened?”

Alex took a moment to catch his breath. “Nothing,” he lied again. “I wanted to come home.”

Mama knew he lied. Mama always knew. “Alexsandr…” she said, voice low and serious. “Tell me what happened.”

Alex had no choice. He could tell Mama now or Mama would spank him and he’d have to tell her anyway. “A Jedi caught me,” he said.

“A Jedi?” Mama sounded worried. “How do you know they were a Jedi?”

“I dunno.” Alex shrugged. “She looked like one. She told me to come to the Temple if I needed help.”

Mama picked Alex up and looked him in the eyes. “Did she make you give it all back?”

Alex breathed easier when Mama held him. He looked at her face; he’d been told his whole life he looked like her when his sisters all looked like Papa. He thought that made him special. “No,” he said, pointing at the small pouch he’d dropped by the door. “I still got credits.”

“Good,” Mama said. She set him down and swatted his bottom lightly. “Katya’s grown out of her shoes, so I need those credits. But you need to go read your books before Papa gets home.”

“Yes, Mama,” Alex said, skipping off to his room.

Alex liked his room. It was small, barely big enough for his bed and a chest for his things, but it was _his_ room while the girls had to share the bigger bedroom. He crawled onto his bed and dug in the drawer of his chest. Amid the treasures he’d collected in the streets – broken datapads and comlinks and droid parts – were his schoolbooks. He pulled out a thick volume labeled _Republic History for Young Readers_ – and set it in his lap.

Papa said he could go anywhere if he read enough. And Papa was never wrong.

Alex was going to live on the surface someday. He wouldn’t need to steal anything and he wouldn’t have to skip meals. He’d bring Mama and Papa with him so they could see the sun, too, and Mama wouldn’t have to worry about paying for new shoes and new clothes and food for supper. If they were nice, he’d even let Katya and Mila and Nadja live with him.

He was going to take care of everyone, someday.

* * *

**16 BBY – Onderon**

Kallus – always Kallus now, never Alex, never Alexsandr – was eighteen and scared out of his wits.

In the span of a year, he’d graduated from the Imperial Military Academy and been commissioned as an ISB agent. The Imperial Security Bureau – well, _Colonel Yularen_ – had recruited him while still at the Academy and he’d gone through six months of intensive training. He ought to have trained longer – standards said at least eighteen months – but rebellion broke out on Onderon, once again led by Saw Gerrera. Due to the nature of the rebellion, ISB agents were in high demand to lead stormtrooper units. Kallus had been commissioned early, given a platoon, and then been sent to Onderon.

Kallus had learned about Gerrera’s Clone Wars uprising in the Academy and a little about his current uprising from the ISB. What he knew terrified him. Gerrera was nothing less than a true fanatic; there would be no quarter, no peace, no compliance from the man.

The Nexu platoon didn’t know – _couldn’t_ know – that their leader was scared, however. Kallus owed them better than that. In the three week he’d had to train with them, Kallus had learned there were actual _men_ beneath the white helmets: not clones, not droids, but men who had families and friendships and rivalries and hopes.

Right then, however, actual _men_ were being slaughtered in front of Kallus’s eyes.

The first ten men fell quickly. The others lasted a bit longer. Snips, the medic, was picked off by a sniper while trying to attend to their oldest trooper, Uncle Rin. Vasto and Kellin and Dodge and Halron and Carth all lay wounded in Kallus’s field of vision, awaiting medical attention that would never come.

 _Like hells it won’t_ , Kallus thought, frowning in determination. He straightened his helmet on his head – the metal was heavy and cold and chafed against his stubbled cheeks, but it would protect him from most blaster bolts and some slugthrowers. Eyes narrowed, he took in the battlefield.

The platoon had been dropped in a backwater sector of Onderon, one that hadn’t been expected to see much action.

Imperial Intelligence had been wrong. They’d landed in the middle of a Partisan stronghold.

It was impossible to tell who was a Partisan and who was merely a citizen. ‘ _Merely_.’ Kallus almost laughed in hysterics; the citizens had all taken up arms against the Empire as well. Everywhere Kallus looked, there was someone shooting at his men. Everywhere Kallus looked, there was a building being blown up by Imperial artillery. Everywhere Kallus looked, there was nothing but death and destruction.

Kallus gulped. Some part of his brain, the instinctive animal part, told him to stay hidden, to stay safe, to live through the battle.

The rest of him, brain and body and nerve, all knew better. He was going to go out there, in the midst of all the fighting, and help his men.

What kind of leader would he be if he didn’t?

Kallus crouched as low as he could manage and darted out into the field. He knelt by Snips’s body for his a moment, long enough to secure the first aid kit, and then he was off again, running to Kellin’s side.

He never made it.

All Kallus could remember when he opened his eyes was a loud noise behind him. _Power shot, repeating cannon_ , supplied that voice in his head that had helped him graduate top of his class, the one which remembered details Kallus hadn’t even realized he’d noticed.

It seemed like some time must have passed; the sun had moved in the sky. What really told him that he’d been knocked out for a while, however, was the relative silence, broken only by screams and pleas for mercy.

He recognized those voices.

That meant they’d lost. But the Empire _never_ lost, not to rebels, did they?

Rolling his head to the left, Kallus could see his blaster, just out of reach. Perhaps they hadn’t lost fully, after all. He just needed to grab his blaster and he could hold out against the Partisans for a little longer, enough times for backup to arrive. He stood–

He didn’t stand. He couldn’t move his legs. And in trying to sit up, the wound on his lower back made itself known.

Kallus didn’t cry out in pain. He’d been trained better than that.

Instead, he looked around, assessing the situation again.

Fire and smoke obscured much of his vision, the remnants of battle still making themselves known. He could see figures moving through the smoke – and then one came close enough to see details.

It was a large alien, bluish and striped where Kallus could see its skin – fur? – and loaded down with heavy weaponry, including a repeater cannon. Could they have been the one…?

_No time to think about that. What else do they carry?_

At the moment, the alien was wielding some sort of complicated electrostaff, burning purple at both ends, with thick handles to accommodate their large four-fingered hands and an even thicker section in the middle with actual wood handles.

Kallus had no clue what kind of weapon it was, other than it was the weapon being used to kill off the remnants of Kallus’s platoon.

Carth screamed when the alien pressed an electric end to his neck and _tortured_ the man to death.

Kallus’s stomach lurched.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t stop the alien. He couldn’t do anything but watch as one by one, the alien made their way closer. Some of the troopers tried to crawl away, but the alien and their staff were faster, were inevitable.

Kallus closed his eyes, recalling his mantra from childhood, hoping it still worked, still helped him go unseen: _don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me. I’m not here, so you can’t catch me._

At first, it seemed to work. The crackle of the electrostaff cut off and silence filled the air once more.

Then he was yanked up by his cuirass, finding himself centimeters from the alien’s face and feeling the excruciating pain from the expansive injury to his back.

That close, he could see the alien’s eyes were large and green, their nasal ridge very short, giving them a flat-faced appearance, and their skin was covered with a thick, fine fur.

“What were you doing?” the alien asked, their breath thick and sour.

Kallus managed not to gag. “Trying to kill you,” he said, as vehemently as he could manage.

The alien laughed. “Try again,” they growled. “You were touching the Ashla. The Empire doesn’t use the Ashla, so who are you?”

 _What in karking blazes is the Ashla?_ “Kriff you,” Kallus spat. “Kriff you and your Partisans and your Rebellion.”

The alien held him a little tighter, a little closer. “I’m here for what Gerrera pays, _not_ your Empire or his Rebellion.”

Kallus sneered. “A mercenary, then. Loyal to nothing and no one but credits. You have no honor.”

“I have more honor than you,” the alien hissed. “You’re nothing but an overgrown kit playing at war. Too bad you won’t live to see how wrong you are.”

Four large raggedly sharp claws snapped out from the ends of the alien’s fingers. Before Kallus could even think to uselessly beg for his life, the alien drew those claws slowly across Kallus’s middle.

They began high, catching his bicep before dipping down _through_ his cuirass and into his abdomen. When those claws raked across ribs and into vital organs, Kallus broke. He screamed.

The pain was worse than anything he’d experienced before. Worse than when he’d gotten violently sick with Bunkerd Sewer Disorder as a child, worse than when he’d trained on the ISB’s torture simulators months before, worse even than feeling the blaster wound on his back just then.

It seemed the alien was trying to _reach_ his back from how deep he dug into Kallus’s stomach.

Kallus’s vision narrowed and spun. If he was still screaming, he wasn’t sure; all he could see was the alien’s grotesque grin. He tried reaching out with his good arm, to push them away and–

–Kallus blinked his eyes open, completely lost, completely disoriented, seeing nothing but diffused light.

It took him a minute, but he recognized where he was: floating in a bacta tank. Where that tank was located, he wasn’t sure, but it meant he was safe and alive and with the Empire again.

Unlike his men.

Goggles protected his eyes but obscured his vision; seeing through the viscous bacta was difficult enough without complications. He thought he saw movement outside, blurry and fast, so he pressed a hand against the transparisteel tank.

Minutes later, he was lifted out of the tank, gasping for fresh air as he spat out the recirculatory breather. A white clad Imperial medic stood by the tank, controlling the mechanism lowering him to the ground. Kallus became aware he was naked, but it barely bothered him; modestly wasn’t something he’d been afforded in his training.

“Careful,” the medic said, her voice light and disaffected. “You’ve still got some tubing in your abdomen to get bacta to your organs. Don’t jerk it out. You’ve already been in the tank for three weeks and I’d rather not have to put you back.”

“Where am I?” he asked.

“The _Vindicator_ , over Taanab. You’re lucky someone saw you were still breathing. There weren’t any other survivors.”

_Three weeks. Three weeks of my life lost to that mercenary. Most of my troopers lost to them, too._

_Never again. I’ll train harder. I’ll learn everything I can. I won’t be that helpless ever again._

**_Ever_**.

* * *

**12 BBY – Lasan**

Lasat were a decidedly unpleasant species, Kallus determined. 

It hadn’t taken him much study to learn that the alien from Onderon had been a lasat, brandishing a bo-rifle, and that to wield one meant they must have been once an Honor Guardsman. 

He refrained from making assumptions on whether or not they had been kicked out of the Guard for being dishonorable.

Isolationists, the lot of them, most Lasat seen in the greater galaxy were unsavory types – mercenaries and gladiators and bounty hunters – giving them a fearsome reputation. The fact that their planet had managed to stay independent from the Republic for thousands of years only added to their mystique.

Kallus couldn’t say he was entirely surprised when he was tapped to lead several ISB platoons to pacify Lasan and bring them into the protective fold of the Empire. His superiors knew he had experience of a sort with lasat, unlike most of his peers, and he’d followed through on the promises he’d made four years earlier.

He’d learned how to handle pain, subjecting himself to the ISB’s torture simulators until the machines couldn’t break him. He’d have practiced with the real thing had his superiors let him.

He’d also made himself familiar with a wide array of weaponry, from electrostaves to turbolasers and practiced until he could hold his own with experts on each.

He’d advanced quickly, working diligently on any mission given to him, pursuing disloyalty until he’d rooted it out and subdued it.

So he might have been young still, but he knew he’d earned his place in the Lasan mission.

From the moment they landed on the arboreal world, Kallus knew it would be a hard fight. They faced not just lasat, but wookiees as well, two ancestral allies come together to face the Empire.

Kallus didn’t see things ending well for either species.

He stood on a roof overlooking the town square, what used to be the marketplace, and smirked. What Kallus saw was a fine job of pacification. His men – ISB and stormtrooper both – drove the lasat back, sending them straight to the three platoons Kallus had sent to flank them.

Imperial artillery rained hard on the edges of the town, trapping the lasat inside.

For a moment, seeing the lasats’ figures run through the smoke and debris reminded him of Lasan. Reminded him that he was in charge this time around.

“Sir!” said one of the troopers assisting him, holding out a black comlink. “You’ve got a comm from command.”

Kallus swiped the comlink and answered crisply, “Sir.”

Admiral Savit’s voice came over the comm, clear and brusque. “Kallus?”

“Yes, sir.”

“New orders. The Emperor would like to see the T-7 Ion Disruptors tested in the field. Your men are to use them immediately on the full population.”

Kallus blinked. “Full population, sir?”

“Is that a problem, Agent?”

 _Yes, it is. What happened to pacifying the populace?_ “I misunderstood our purpose here, it seems. I will issue the orders right away.”

“Good. And Kallus? Once your location is cleared, contact me for your next assignments. We’ll close into the capital together.”

“Sir.” Kallus clicked the comlink off and turned to the troopers behind him. “Well? You heard the admiral. Start handing out the T-7s.”

The white-clad troopers rushed to follow Kallus’s orders; Kallus himself took a more leisurely pace to the square.

He stood by the fountain – was it simply decorative, he wondered, or did the lasat drink from a communal source? – and waited to be handed one of the T-7s.

It was easy to pick out which smoky figures were lasat and which were human – their height and digitigrade legs gave away the lasat.

Kallus swung the T-7 to his shoulder, sighting in on one figure moving through the smoke.

The figure was lasat, female, and possibly young; it was at least a little shorter than other lasat.

 _Don’t shoot an unarmed citizen,_ some tiny voice said. _This is dishonorable._

“These are orders,” Kallus muttered to himself.

He fired.

Half a second later, he wished he hadn’t.

The figure disintegrated, leaving a shadow of ash – lasat ash – against the nearest wall.

Kallus dropped the T-7 and motioned for his assistant to come to his side.

“Comm,” he said, without waiting for a salute. “Get me Admiral Savit.”

The admiral seemed impressed when he answered. “Done already, Agent?”

“Sir, I know we’re testing these T-7s–”

“Are they effective?”

“Effective?” Kallus kept his voice steady. Yes, they were effective. They were also horrifying. Being shot by a blaster or caught by a bomb was one thing; witnessing a creature _unmade_ in front of you was quite another. “Sir, have you seen the effects of these disruptors on living beings? It seems a bit–”

“Kallus, the Emperor himself wants these weapons used and the population of Lasan cleared,” the admiral said frankly. “Is that clear?”

A small gulp. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Kallus turned off the comlink again, reaching back for the trooper to take it for him.

“Sergeant Branth?”

The trooper stepped forward. “Sir?”

Kallus’s brows knit. “Tell the men to double down. No one leaves this city alive.”

He watched from the fountain as the remaining lasat and wookiees were routed, a satisfied smile on his face. The lasat weren’t capitulating, he reasoned. They weren’t going to give in to the Empire. The Emperor must have foreseen that. There was always a good reason; Kallus didn’t always have to know it. His men didn’t always have to know it.

Thus, orders were being followed to the letter.

Silence behind Kallus – there wasn’t even the sound of a trooper shuffling on his feet or talking on a comm – was his only clue.

Hair standing on end, Kallus spun, pulling out his electrostaff, and met the lasat guardsman in a block above his head.

Frantically, he thought, _don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me. I’m not here, so you can’t catch me._

Of course, it was too late for the words of the chant to come true – the guardsman had found him – but the _essence_ of it was still true. _Let me be quick, let me be clever, let me take them by surprise._

This close, he could tell the guardsman was male, a hulking purple monster gritting his teeth and showing his fangs. The sheer strength the lasat possessed was impressive, the thick black bo-rifle he held pressing dangerously against Kallus’s staff.

That was okay. Kallus was impressive, too.

He pushed back, keenly aware that the lasat might fight with his feet, too. The lasat growled and Kallus set his jaw.

Just like that, the two were locked in battle. Later, Kallus wouldn’t be able to say _how_ he knew just where to move or how to strike, but he did. It was simply instinctive. And for a while, the lasat moved with him, an equally matched opponent.

But the lasat had fought all day, whereas Kallus had mostly observed as a battalion leader ought.

The guardsman flagged, giving Kallus the upper hand. Brandishing a wicked smile along with his staff, Kallus pressed his advantage, driving the lasat back into a corner.

He had nowhere to go. He was trapped. Kallus had won.

“Any last words, _Honor Guardsman_?” Kallus asked, turning the words into a taunt.

The lasat drooped, clearly aware he was defeated. He collapsed his bo-rifle and held it out.

“What is this?” Kallus asked. “The Empire isn’t accepting surrenders today.”

The lasat looked at him, eyes big and bright and green and _tired_. “You touch the Ashla. You defeated me. My weapon is yours.”

Keeping his staff to the lasat’s neck, Kallus reached out with his left hand and took the bo-rifle.

He wasn’t sure why he did it that way; it would have been easier to kill the lasat and take the bo-rifle then. Perhaps it was the fact that bo-rifles – genuine, good-quality bo-rifles – were hard to find off Lasan. Perhaps something in the guardsman’s words touched Kallus.

The second he gripped the bo-rifle tight, he knew something had changed.

The weapon flared warm in his hand, as if the metal had been held to a flame. Kallus felt a _connection_ to the bo-rifle he’d never felt for anything or anyone before. Somehow, he knew exactly what to do to extend and light the ends.

With bo-rifle and staff combined, Kallus slew the guardsman.

He turned, ignoring the dead body at his back, and kept one eye on the square as he examined his new prize. The bo-rifle was sleek and black, a newer model, obviously well-cared for despite the dust and grime of battle sticking to its surface. Kallus checked its basic range of motion, found the trigger for the blaster function, and held it up to his eye to test.

It was heavy, not made for human hands, but Kallus knew he could learn to wield it as well or better than any lasat. When Kallus gave into his determination, nothing could stop him.

No lasat would ever stop him again, would ever hurt him again.

If there were any left in the galaxy once the Empire was through with Lasan, that was.

* * *

**3 BBY – Bahryn**

Following Orrelios into the escape pod had been one of the _stupidest_ moves of Kallus’s life, he reflected, even though he’d been _so sure_ it was the right thing to do.

Beside him, Orrelios – Zeb – snoozed. How the lasat managed to sleep in the cold was beyond Kallus’s comprehension. _He_ certainly wasn’t managing it, even with the warmth of the lasat at his back. If the Empire didn’t locate them soon, he would be dead despite all the effort they’d both put into keeping him alive.

His face was cold, exposed to the elements, and he couldn’t feel his nose or ears anymore. His eyes threatened to stick shut every time he blinked. His chest hurt from the chill of the metal cuirass he wore and refused to take off. Even his fingers and toes ached; his standard issue clothes weren’t meant for such conditions as these.

The only thing that wasn’t cold, strangely, was his injured leg, bound up and braced with his bo-rifle. Kallus wrote it off as nerve damage.

He didn’t think about the fact that the bo-rifle had never been cold in his hands before.

With stiff fingers, he reached for the meteorite that Zeb had found. The soft glow pulsed as he handled it, feeling heat leech through his gloves. If only it was warmer, it might actually keep them both alive.

Then again, much warmer and the thing might melt the ground they sat on – a bad idea since they seemed to be above another cave. Kallus had heard more beaked lizards roar beneath them, echoing through the cavern system that seemed to run just below the surface.

Zeb sighed in his sleep and his head fell on Kallus’s shoulder.

Kallus ought to move. He ought to take that hidden vibroblade from his boot and slice Orrelios’s throat. He ought to try and steal the other bo-rifle. He ought to do _something_ to disable or incapacitate the lasat. 

Any good Imperial would, when this close to a Rebel.

But this Rebel had shown him mercy. Thanks to Zeb, Kallus was alive. Thanks to Zeb, Kallus finally understood why he’d been gifted his bo-rifle nine years before.

Thanks to Zeb, Kallus was confused.

Not really, he assured himself. Kallus would go back to the Empire, look up Geonosis, and find a perfectly sensible reason for the planet’s population to have been eradicated or moved. Disobedience, most likely, or perhaps an epidemic that couldn’t be halted in time.

He didn’t know. It hadn’t been his business to know. Kallus trusted that the Empire had reasons for all they did and accepted that he didn’t need to know them all.

Did he?

Beneath them, the beaked lizards called. It sounded like there were more of them. Did they know he and Zeb were right above them?

_Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me. I’m not here, so you can’t catch me._

_Don’t notice **us**_.

The meteorite pulsed in his hands again, a little stronger, a little warmer, each time he thought through his mantra.

The lizards quieted, but the meteorite shone brighter. If it weren’t for the howling wind, Kallus would almost say he could _hear_ the stone singing.

Just like the Jedi used to say kyber would.

That was absurd. Stone didn’t _sing_. This wasn’t _kyber_ , a fragment formed in the heart of a star that made its way to _this_ system, _this_ moon, in time to be useful to Kallus. It was all mere coincidence.

The excess warmth spilling out of the meteorite was simply a figment of Kallus’s addled imagination. It wasn’t actually getting so hot it was hard to hold; that was numbed fingers and nerves waking back up. He just had to hold onto it for a minute more and his body would adjust.

“What’re you doing?” grumbled Zeb, sounding barely awake. Kallus imagined one big eye opening and looking his way.

“Examining our only source of warmth,” Kallus responded primly.

“Don’t do that. Put it back,” Zeb said. “That or do what I suggested in the first place.”

Kallus scoffed. “I am not sleeping with you draped over my back like some sort of malodorous fur blanket.”

Zeb chuckled lightly. “Bet you’d _like_ to take me back as a fur blanket.”

 _No. Yes. No_. Kallus said nothing.

Zeb sighed and settled back in against Kallus’s shoulders. “Try to sleep, won’t you? I won’t let you freeze to death.”

“What happens if _you_ freeze to death?” Kallus muttered.

“Then we’re both kriffed,” Zeb said. “Might as well sleep through the dyin’ bit.”

Well. Kallus couldn’t argue with that.

Gently, he placed the meteorite between them, feeling its heat radiate along his left leg and hip.

Perhaps it would be enough to see them through the night.

* * *

**1 BBY – Atollon**

“Thrawn’s not going to be happy with you making a mess of his fleet,” Kallus drawled sanctimoniously.

He was purposefully pushing Pryce’s buttons. Any moment, she’d snap and either kill him or–

–or set him up for an escape.

The Death Troopers had left with Thrawn, leaving nothing but regular troopers to guard Kallus. Normally, he felt sympathy for troopers – young men and women led astray by the Empire’s promises of an adventurous career – but these two were in his way and would have to be dealt with.

“Throw this traitor out the airlock,” Pryce instructed, barely containing her irritation.

Even as the troopers dragged him off, Kallus smirked. Considering that a win was pettiness, but he’d take anything he could get at the moment. Most everything else was a loss: they’d tortured him with no real goal other than Thrawn’s amusement as they jumped to the Atollon system from Lothal. Everything that had nerve endings hurt. His head was swimming if he didn’t concentrate.

Thrawn had even messed up his _hair_. And, silly as it was, _that_ was unforgivable.

The troopers stopped in front of the turbolift and Kallus knew he had his moment. He calculated it would take the turbolift about a minute and a half to reach from the command bridge to the hangar level.

A minute and a half could be a long time.

The door _swoosh_ ed shut and Kallus smirked.

Behind him, he yanked on his thumb just right – it hurt, but what didn’t hurt? With his thumb dislocated, he could slip his binders. And with binders as durasteel knuckles, it was even easier to knock the two troopers’ heads together.

It felt satisfying in a way nothing had for a long time.

They tried to fight back, but with his hands free, even a tortured Kallus was more capable than two half-trained troopers. Kallus jabbed them in the throat, just under their helmets, hard enough to crush their windpipes.

Gasping, they slid to the floor of the turbolift.

By the time the doors _swoosh_ ed open again, they weren’t gasping any longer.

Kallus rubbed his wrists, the binders thrown to the ground behind him, taking a moment to reset his thumb, and hurried out of the turbolift before anyone could see. There was all the chance in the world that Thrawn’s people didn’t _all_ know he was a traitor; they would probably see the ISB uniform and give him wide berth.

Best to be certain, however.

 _Don’t notice me, don’t notice me,_ he thought as he limped down the hallway. He _pushed_ into the feeling of the words more than he ever had before. _Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me. I’m not here, so you can’t catch me._

The _Chimaera_ was a huge ship, taking Kallus a good few minutes to reach the escape pods. His mantra worked until he reached the hallway with the pods; there, another trooper stood guard.

“Hey,” he said, holding up a hand. “No one has access to be down here.”

“I’m ISB. I have access everywhere,” Kallus said, keeping his voice steady.

“Not without clearance from Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“What’s your operating number?” Kallus said, stepping forward and looming over the trooper as best he could. “The ISB is always interested in ambitious young troopers who try to derail our missions.”

That _should_ have made the trooper stand down. Instead, he cocked his head and Kallus’s stomach plummeted. The only pertinent update the trooper could be receiving was news of Kallus’s escape. They must have found the turbolift.

He didn’t wait to be taken captive again. Kallus struck out, ignoring the searing pain in his knee and sides – _no time for pain,_ he thought – and kicked the trooper in the stomach.

Caught off guard, the trooper rammed into the bulkhead behind him, slamming his head against the wall. The butt of Kallus’s hand caught him when his head bounced forward again and the trooper slid down the wall, slumping to the side.

 _Thank the Force, that’s what the Rebels say_ , he mused as he limped to an escape pod. _I use the Ashla, lasats say. Let’s see if any of that is true._

Kallus flew the escape pod to a relatively empty area of space, punched in a comm code, and waited.

_Find me. Find me. Find me._

Over and over in his mind, Kallus pictured Zeb and the other Spectres. If anyone might come to his rescue, it would be them. He’d helped them, hadn’t he? He’d saved a few of them. Perhaps they would want to repay him with his own life.

Perhaps they wouldn’t.

To Kallus’s amazement, he saw the _Ghost_ , that battered old VCX-100 he’d chased for so long, flying aerobatics through the battle, _toward him_.

To his even greater amazement, they picked up his escape pod.

Above him, Kallus heard the sound of a hatch opening, so he unlocked the escape pod door, unsure who he’d see on the other side. Syndulla was obviously piloting, but maybe Jarrus? Or Wren and Bridger? Zeb? They might have sent that C1 astromech to fetch him.

He wasn’t expecting the hatch to reveal an older man and many tired and battered looking rebels.

The man, Kallus recognized. Jan Dodonna, former Imperial Star Destroyer captain and current Rebel general. The men, Kallus didn’t know, though the looks they gave him showed what they thought of anyone in an Imperial uniform.

Kallus would despise himself, too. Did, a little. These men must have been on Sato’s ship, evacuated before it took out the Interdictor. Meeting them in his uniform might be suicide.

But then Dodonna smiled and offered him a hand up. “You must be Fulcrum. Captain Syndulla said we’d be picking you up.”

“She did?” Kallus asked, a little dazed. He was letting go of that concentration, losing his control, and feeling his injuries more.

“A minute ago, yes.” Dodonna looked at the Rebels. “This man spied for the Rebellion under Thrawn’s nose for over a year. Let’s get him taken care of.”

“No,” Kallus shook his head. “I can wait.”

Dodonna didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Let’s get to the cockpit, then. If you have any information we should know, tell it to us there.”

“Sir,” Kallus said, and something inside him settled. Ever since Bahryn, he’d been in turmoil, either in a moral quandary or trying to hide his true nature from someone as astute as Grand Admiral Thrawn. But just then, showing deference to a Rebellion leader? Knowing he’d been worth rescuing in a battle zone? Knowing that even if the Rebellion decided to take punitive action, he’d turned himself around and begun a journey back to light?

Kallus breathed easily for the first time in a very long time.

* * *

**0 BBY – Lothal**

Capital City was in shambles. Kallus couldn’t help the sick feeling in his stomach that said he was part of the reason Thrawn had bombarded the city.

Of course, he was also part of the team that got the shield running again, but that seemed to matter less when he looked around and all he could see were damaged buildings. The air filled with screams and sobs mixed with the cheers of joy.

Closing his eyes, Kallus tried to center himself. In the past year, Zeb had explained to him what the Ashla was and even shown him some exercises the Honor Guard had used to touch the Ashla through their bo-rifles.

Of course, without his bo-rifle or their meteorite, it was a little trickier, but Kallus had the idea now.

 _Guide me,_ he thought. _Guide me, guide me. I’m here, show me where I’m needed._

He heard Zeb come up behind him, a wall of solid warmth. “Find anything?”

“You know you could be doing this, too,” Kallus said quietly.

“Yeah, but you got it.”

Kallus focused. Suddenly, he felt a spark off to his left. He pointed. “There. People are trapped there.”

He didn’t follow Zeb off to the rubble pile, though. He kept concentrating. His connection to the Ashla began to flow easily, and he kept pointing. “There,” he said. “And over there. Under the collapsed archway.”

Trusting him, their little Rebel group split apart, grabbing gawking Lothalians to help them uncover their fellow citizens.

When the connection cut off, Kallus stumbled back a step.

He expected to feel drained, to feel used, but he felt invigorated instead. It was an unusual sensation, but he welcomed it. It told him he’d done the right thing.

It told him that every step he’d taken since Bahryn had been in the right direction, into some sort of symbiosis with the galaxy at large, into something that made his life have true meaning.

He couldn’t save everyone, he couldn’t make up for everything he’d done in the past – from breaking the law to survive as a child to following orders when he should have refused to enforcing unjust laws as an adult – but he could still make a difference.

 _Thank the Ashla for bringing me this far_.

Kallus smiled. 


End file.
